MOTHERS  AND    MEN 


MOTHERS  AND  MEN 

A  Book  of  Poems 


BY 


HAROLD  TROWBRIDGE  PULSIFER 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

rerftf  Cambri&0e 
1916 


COPYRIGHT,    1916,   BY   HAROLD  TROWBRIDGE    PULSIFER 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  September  iqib 


TO  MY  MOTHER 

WHO  HAS  LIVED  MORE  POETRY  THAN 
ANY  MAN  IS  DESTINED  TO  WRITE 


339881 


NOTE 

THE  following  poems  included  in  this  collection  are  reprinted  from 
the  Outlook:  uThe  Mothers,"  "In  the  Mantle  of  God,"  "Theo 
dora,"  "Mother  and  Son,"  "Poet  and  Folk,"  "In  the  Open/' 
"Ecstasy,"  "I  would  not  be  a  Child  again,"  "The  Riderless  Horse," 
"America  to  Mexico,"  "The  Lusitania,"  "Clarion." 

"To  an  Unborn  Child,"  and  "Woman,!  have  seen  your  Face," 
were  first  published  in  the  Poetry  'Journal. 

"The  Conquest  of  the  Air"  was  awarded  the  Lloyd  McKim 
Garrison  Prize  by  Harvard  College. 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

The  Mothers  3 

In  the  Mantle  of  God  6 

Theodora  7 

To  an  Unborn  Child  8 

Mother  and  Son  9 

Woman,  I  have  seen  your  Face  1 1 

Love's  Derelict  12 

PART  II 

Poet  and  Folk  15 

In  the  Open  19 

Ecstasy  20 

I  would  not  be  a  Child  again  21 

Law  22 

The  Chapel  Bell  23 

The  Golden  Calf  25 

PART  III 

The  Conquest  of  the  Air  29 

Lincoln  31 

The  Riderless  Horse  32 

America  to  Mexico  33 

America  to  America  35 

The  Lusitania  36 

Clarion  38 


MOTHERS   AND    MEN 
PART  I 


THE    MOTHERS 

The  Mother 

DAUGHTER  of  mine,  bride  of  my  son, 
Radiant-eyed  from  the  love  you  have  won, 
Little  you  dreamed  of  the  long  sweet  years, 
The  fledgling  hopes  and  the  half-thought  fears, 
The  spoken  joy  and  the  hidden  tears; 
Little  you  dreamed  —  and  less  you  knew  — 
How  much  of  my  life  I  gave  to  you. 

We  Bride 

Mother  of  mine,  so  long  unknown, 
You  that  have  called  my  boy  your  own, 
What  do  you  know  of  the  love  I  bring, 
The  hope  in  my  heart,  the  lilt  and  swing 
Of  life  new-touched  with  an  angel's  wing? 
Mother  of  mine  with  the  lonely  eyes, 
Has  my  love  meant  no  sacrifice? 

The  Mother 

Daughter  of  mine,  bride  of  my  son, 
Flushed  with  the  hope  of  your  life  begun, 

[3] 


MOTHERS  AND  MEN 

What  have  you  known  of  vigils  kept 
In  the  desert  land  where  Hagar  wept 
When  God  forgot  and  the  angels  slept  ? 
Whence  came  the  light  within  your  eyes 
That  makes  your  face  so  mother-wise? 

The  Bride 

Mother  of  mine,  I  know  your  smiles 

Are  tear-wet  flowers  of  tender  wiles. 

Why  is  your  garden  of  life  less  fair? 

The  rose  of  love  still  lingers  there: 

You  have  no  hope  I  cannot  share! 

Mother  of  mine,  who  have  loved  so  well, 

Mother-hearts  are  not  born  at  the  marriage  bell ! 

The  Mothers 

Sister  of  mine  in  motherhood, 
How  can  he  dream  the  half  we  know  — 
We  that  have  kept  and  understood 
'The  lover  s  law  of  sun  and  snow? 
How  can  our  boy,  so  wistful-eyed, 
Child  that  he  is  in  mother-land, 
Fathom  the  depths  of  love  and  pride 
That  guard  his  life  on  either  hand? 
Love  as  old  as  the  ancient  hills, 
As  new  as  the  youngest  flower  — 
[4] 


THE  MOTHERS 

This  is  the  living  spring  that  Jills 

His  child-heart,  hour  by  hour. 

We  that  are  mothers  of  one  have  been 

Mothers  of  all  since  time  began, 

Only  the  mothers  of  life  can  'win 

To  the  love  we  share  for  the  child  and  man. 


IN    THE    MANTLE    OF    GOD 

I  PRAY  to  a  God  with  a  woman's  face. 

(My  mother's  face  is  wondrous  fair!) 
The  wide  world  is  an  altar-place, 

And  love-in-life  the  only  prayer. 

I  work  for  a  God  with  a  woman's  hands. 

(My  mother's  hands  are  cool  and  strong!) 
I  sing  for  a  God  who  understands 

The  worker's  work  and  the  singer's  song. 

I  live  for  a  God  with  a  woman's  eyes. 

(My  mother's  eyes  have  made  me  whole!) 
The  very  walls  of  paradise 

Are  compassed  in  a  single  soul ! 


[6] 


THEODORA 

A  SUPPLIANT  for  peace  I  came 

As  one  who,  fleeing  sword  and  fire, 

Seeks  refuge  at  the  altar  flame 
Within  a  cool  cathedral  choir. 

No  bread  you  gave,  nor  any  wine. 

I  only  saw  you  standing  there; 
A  mortal  tranquilly  divine; 

An  angel  breathing  earthly  air. 

I  heard  no  voice,  I  saw  no  hand 

In  quiet  benediction  raised. 
I  dared  not  hope  to  understand 

The  faith  your  very  presence  praised, 

Yet  all  my  terror  and  my  doubt 
Before  your  spirit's  mystery 

Fled:  —  as  the  Gadarene  rout 

Down  plunging  to  the  sudden  sea. 


t  7  ] 


TO    AN    UNBORN    CHILD 

SPIRIT,  ere  thy  winged  soul 

Wakens  to  the  holy  day 
As  the  secret  leaves  unroll 

At  the  fragrant  call  of  May, 
Whispered  to  the  silent  air,  — 

Let  me  breathe  for  thee  a  prayer, 

May  thy  Mother's  heart  be  thine, 
Tender  and  divinely  wise, 

And  like  sacramental  wine 
Fill  the  chalice  of  thine  eyes. 

Half  the  peace  her  presence  brings 
Were  a  heritage  for  kings. 

May  her  hands  be  given  thee 

With  her  fingers  cool  and  strong. 

May  her  voice  in  melody 

Echo  through  thy  golden  song. 

All  the  glories  of  the  earth 

Wait  the  moment  of  thy  birth ! 


[8] 


MOTHER    AND    SON 

CLEAR,  steady  eyes ;  lips  unafraid 

To  question  freely,  to  speak  the  truth  ;  — 

Just  for  a  day  was  the  life-march  stayed 

Ere  the  heart  of  my  child  was  the  heart  of  a  youth 

Now  the  change  is  come,  I  know  not  how, 
Still  the  same  brave  joy  in  little  things, 

The  same  frank  mouth,  and  placid  brow ; 
Yet  I  feel  the  rush  of  unseen  wings. 

He  dreams  at  play,  his  face  grows  still; 

Still  and  deep  as  the  windless  sea ; 
I  cannot  help,  though  I  have  the  will, 

When  he  turns  unseeing  eyes  to  me. 

I  hold  him  close,  yet  I  feel  him  start 

Like  a  captive  bird  in  kindly  hands. 
In  the  self-same  room  he  dwells  apart 

In  a  world  that  no  love  understands. 

Even  the  lovers  of  life  who  share 

With  God  and  death  life's  open  gate 

But  dimly  see  through  pain  and  prayer 
The  souls  they  serve  with  hearts  elate. 

[9] 


MOTHERS  AND  MEN 

Once  I  prayed  for  a  life  beyond  my  own, 

Sanctified  by  the  pain  of  birth. 
Now  that  the  gift  is  come,  I  stand  alone 

Where  a  new  soul  walks  the  fragrant  earth. 

Though  a  ghost-babe  sleeps  in  my  empty  arms, 
Close  to  the  breast  where  its  life  began, 

I  turn  from  that  dream  of  childish  charms 
Glad-eyed  to  the  soul  of  the  man ! 


WOMAN,   I    HAVE    SEEN  YOUR    FACE 

WOMAN,  I  have  seen  your  face 
Since  your  little  child  was  born, 

And  where  pain  has  left  its  trace 
There  is  now  no  hint  of  scorn. 

I  had  never  dreamed  you  were 
Half  so  rich  in  human  worth. 

Did  God  give  into  your  care 
Two  souls  at  a  single  birth? 


LOVE'S    DERELICT 

BEREFT  of  hope  she  croons  a  name, 

A  name  that  is  a  throbbing  prayer  ; 
A  prayer  that  is  a  winged  flame. 

The  low-voiced  chant  of  her  despair, 

Incessant  as  the  moon-drawn  tide, 

Beats  upward  through  the  empty  air. 

The  very  skull  where  Jesus  died 

Must  weep  from  sightless  eyes  for  shame 
That  such  a  love  was  crucified  ! 


PART    II 


POET   AND    FOLK 

fbe  Poet 

I  WAS  the  trumpet  that  took  you  to  war, 
I  was  the  glamour  in  clattering  mail, 
I  was  the  pennon  you  fluttered  from  lances, 
I  was  your  thirst  for  the  death-dealing  hail. 

The  Folk 

Yea,  we  started  like  a  tempest 

When  the  loud-tongued  thunder  calls, 

And  you  watched  us  storming  deathward 

Through  red  fire-riven  walls. 

Rank  on  rank  we  rose  and  perished, 

Host  on  host  we  hoped  and  died. 

Yours  the  voice  that  called  to  battle, 

Ours  the  hearts  you  crucified. 


Poet 

Low  and  grass-grown  were  the  windrows 
Where  your  sleeping  legions  lay. 
Sunken  in  a  sea  of  clover, 
There  I  lingered  out  the  day, 
[  '5  ] 


MOTHERS  AND  MEN 

Till  a  spray  of  blossoms  tossing 
Beckoned  me  to  point  the  v/ay. 
Once,  I  cried,  I  sang  of  battle, 
Joy  in  death  and  clashing  arms,  — 
And  this  rolling  sward  is  answer 
To  the  sound  of  my  alarms. 
Life  is  only  youth  and  roses  — 
Seek  and  find  them  where  you  may ! 
Mark  this  field  of  fairy  beauty 
Sprung  from  your  forgotten  clay  ! 

?be  Folk 

Halting  and  weary  we  stumbled  on,  stumbled  on, 
Led  by  your  luring  through  thicket  and  thorn. 
Faded,  the  rose  petals  fell  from  our  fingers, 
Hope  in  our  hearts  was  a  vision  still-born ! 

The  Poet 

Up  from  your  valleys  I  fled  to  the  mountains, 
Fashioned  an  altar  of  ice  and  of  snow, 
Worshipped  a  God  as  cold  as  my  temple, 
Scorning  the  battle  and  beauty  below. 
Ever  the  sunshine  that  walled  me  in  crystal, 
Ever  the  star  beams  that  stabbed  through  the  dark, 
Found  me  a  figure  of  motionless  marble 
Carved  at  devotions,  all  pallid  and  stark. 

[  16] 


POET  AND  FOLK 

Voiceless  I  waited,  and  wondered,  and  pondered, 
Lingered  alone  with  the  dreams  I  had  lost; 
Lo,  when  I  prayed  then,  aloud  for  my  people  — 
Out  of  my  mouth  went  a  wafer  of  frost ! 

The  Folk 

There  in  the  valley  we  waited  your  coming, 
Songless  we  labored  and  longed  for  the  light, 
While  the  warm  blood  that  throbbed  in  our  bodies 
Deadened  your  prayer  tinkling  down  from  the  height. 

The  Poet 

Oh,  my  people,  once  I  stirred  you 
Out  of  sloth  to  instant  flame ; 
Then  the  rose-strewn  path  I  showed  you 
Lured  you  forth  to  sullen  shame. 
When  I  prayed  that  you  might  follow, 
You  but  watched  me  from  afar ; 
By  what  guidon  shall  I  lead  you — 
Sword,  or  rose,  or  distant  star? 

The  Folk 

You  have  strength  to  see  the  vision, 
You  have  words  that  burn  like  fire ; 
We  are  halt,  and  blind,  and  stricken 
With  the  weight  of  dumb  desire. 


MOTHERS  AND  MEN 

There  is  little  joy  in  battle 

For  the  sake  of  clashing  blade  ; 

Roses  are  an  empty  trophy 

When  their  warmth  and  color  fade. 

While  you  scaled  the  pass  to  heaven 

You  have  left  us  here  to  die. 

Is  there  neither  joy  nor  battle 

Near  your  temple  in  the  sky  ? 

Bring  us  down  that  starlit  glory, 

Make  us  see  it  like  a  rose, 

Warm  with  more  than  earthly  beauty, 

Pure  as  are  the  deathless  snows. 

We  will  storm  the  path  you  followed, 

Host  on  host  all  unafraid. 

Dare  you  sound  your  silver  trumpet 

For  the  long  crusade? 


IN    THE    OPEN 

THE  sunlit  moon, 

The  sweet  warm  light  of  afternoon, 

The  spurting  torch  of  the  cardinal  flower, 

The  wan  white  rose, 
The  winter  gale  and  April  shower. 

O,  that  I  had  the  power 
To  fashion  these  with  joyous  hand 
In  music  worlds  might  understand! 


ECSTASY 

I  HEARD  the  wind  among  the  trees, 
The  surf  along  the  sea: 
Star-deep,  soul-wide, 
The  sudden  tide 
Swept  on  and  over  me. 

My  hidden  dreams,  a  rushing  sea,— 
All  glorious  they  came, — 
A  blazing  light 
That  made  the  night 
A  living  thing  of  flame ! 


I   WOULD   NOT   BE  A   CHILD   AGAIN 

I  WOULD  not  be  a  child  again 

For  all  the  rainbow's  hidden  gold ; 

Though  I  saw  wondrous  visions  then, 
My  hands  were  never  strong  to  hold. 

Forgetful  of  the  open  sky, 

Bravely  I  dreamed  as  hour  by  hour 

I  lingered  like  some  butterfly 
The  prisoner  of  a  single  flower. 

With  strength  to  love,  but  none  to  save, 
I  marked  each  fragrant  petal  fall. 

Flower  and  dream  found  a  wind-borne  grave 
With  molten  sunlight  for  a  pall. 

Then  I  was  left  with  empty  hands 
And  loneliness  too  blank  for  tears. 

God  pity  him  who  understands 

Glad  dreams  too  holy  for  his  years ! 


LAW 

OF  one  vast  multitude  a  single  star 

Sped  like  an  arrow  from  the  sky, 
And  we  who  watched  it  from  afar 

Flame  into  nothingness  and  die  — 
Like  children  smiling  in  a  dream, 

Firm  in  our  trust  of  earthly  things, 
Still  called  our  little  laws  supreme, 

Nor  heard  the  rush  of  Hidden  Wings, 


[22] 


THE   CHAPEL   BELL 

On  the  cornerstone   of  the  Pomfret  School   Chapel  is 
carved  this  cross  of  letters  :  — 


P 

A 

LUXER 
E 
L 


"PEACE!" 

(The  great  bell's  monotone 
This  solemn  invocation  sings.} 

"Peace! 

The  peace  of  deathless  stone 
Here  where  the  cool  green  ivy  clings ! " 

"Light! 

The  living  sun,  O  Youth; 
Athwart  the  marble  lectern  falls:  — 

Light! 

The  heraldry  of  truth 
Has  touched  with  gold  these  silent  walls ! 


MOTHERS  AND  MEN 

"Law! 

The  flaming  sword  that  hung 
A  lightning  flash  at  Eden's  gate:  — 

Law ! 

The  hope  Isaiah  sung 
Is  mine  to  sing  with  tongue  elate ! " 

"King! 

Thy  Name  is  mine  to  bear, 
The  house  and  temple  of  The  Lord:  — 

King! 

Hear  them  now  who  kneel  in  prayer 
Guard  thou  the  temper  of  their  sword ! 


THE   GOLDEN   CALF 

I  AM  the  god  that  serves  and  rules, 

Men  I  serve,  I  master  fools. 

In  Peter's  pence  or  beggar's  toll 

I  make  or  mar  the  human  soul. 

By  saint  and  sinner  the  path  is  trod 

That  leads  to  me,  the  yellow  god. 

Whether  you  call  and  I  obey, 

Or  whether  you  go  where  I  lead  the  way, 

Be  it  you  or  I  with  the  whip  and  goad, 

We  both  must  travel  the  selfsame  road. 


PART  III 


THE   CONQUEST  OF  THE  AIR 

WITH  a  thunder-driven  heart 

And  the  shimmer  of  new  wings, 
I,  a  worm  that  was,  upstart ; 
King  of  kings ! 

I  have  heard  the  singing  stars, 

I  have  watched  the  sunset  die, 
As  I  burst  the  lucent  bars 
Of  the  sky. 

Lo,  the  argosies  of  Spain, 

As  they  ploughed  the  naked  brine, 
Found  no  heaven-girded  main 
Like  to  mine. 

Soaring  from  the  clinging  sod, 

First  and  foremost  of  my  race, 
I  have  met  the  hosts  of  God 
Face  to  face : 

Met  the  tempest  and  the  gale 

Where  the  white  moon-riven  cloud 


MOTHERS  AND  MEN 

Wrapt  the  splendor  of  my  sail 
In  a  shroud. 

Where  the  ghost  of  winter  fled 

Swift  I  followed  with  the  snow, 
Like  a  silver  arrow  sped 
From  a  bow. 

I  have  trailed  the  summer  south 

Like  a  flash  of  burnished  gold, 
When  she  fled  the  hungry  mouth 
Of  the  cold. 

I  have  dogged  the  ranging  sun 

Till  the  world  became  a  scroll ; 
All  the  oceans,  one  by  one, 
Were  my  goal. 

Other  winged  men  may  come, 

Pierce  the  heavens,  chart  the  sky, 
Sound  an  echo  to  my  drum 
Ere  they  die. 

I  alone  have  seen  the  earth, 

Age-old  fetters  swept  aside, 
In  the  glory  of  new  birth  — 
Deified  ! 


LINCOLN 

THE  trump  of  war,  the  tread  of  marching  feet, 

The  shrill  chaotic  cries  of  little  men, 

Of  those  who  bid  "  aspire  "  and  then  "  retreat," 

Wind-driven  phantoms  of  an  idle  pen,  — 

All  vanish  in  the  vision  of  a  man 

Like  some  vast  mountain,  gaunt  and  somber  gray, 

Guarding  the  heavens  that  it  seems  to  scan 

For  one  faint  glimmer  of  returning  day,  — 

Then  first  to  hear  the  Morning  Spirit  call 

Leaps  into  life,  warm  sunlight  over  all ! 


THE    RIDERLESS    HORSE 

CLOSE  ranks  and  ride  on ! 
Though  his  saddle  be  bare, 
The  bullet  is  sped, 
Now  the  dead 
Cannot  care. 
Close  ranks  and  ride  on ! 
Let  the  pitiless  stride 
Of  the  host  that  he  led, 
Though  his  saddle  be  red, 
Sweep  on  like  the  tide. 
Close  ranks  and  ride  on  ! 
The  banner  he  bore 
For  God  and  the  right 
Never  faltered  before. 
Quick,  up  with  it,  then  ! 
For  the  right !   For  the  light ! 
Lest  legions  of  men 
Be  lost  in  the  night ! 


AMERICA   TO    MEXICO 

(ON    THE    OCCUPATION    OF    VERA    CRUz) 

WE  do  not  come 

With  throbbing  drum 

And  fifes  triumphant  crying. 

We  know  the  cost 

And  count  our  lost 

Or  ever  they  lie  dying. 

We  have  no  lust  for  battle 

Where  men  like  driven  cattle 

Go  down  before  the  bullet  and  the  blade. 

No  dread  and  vengeful  ghost 

Shall  guide  our  northern  host, 

Our  legions  of  the  just  and  unafraid. 

Where  Cortez  marched  in  slaughter 
Through  blood  that  ran  like  water 
We  sound  the  knell  of  passion  with  our  guns. 
No  lure  of  land  shall  blind  us, 
And  the  pledge  with  which  we  bind  us 
Is  the  life  and  faith  and  vision  of  our  sons. 
[33] 


MOTHERS  AND  MEN 

Where  the  empire  of  the  Frank 

Drave  backward  rank  on  rank 

Before  the  sword  of  Juarez  and  the  right ; 

There  vultures  stand  at  bay, 

Yet  the  northern  eagles  say 

That  to-morrow  shall  bring  freedom  and  the  light ! 

Fling  wide  your  gates  before  us! 

By  the  love  of  truth  that  bore  us 

Through  the  blinding  rain  of  death  on  Bunker  Hill, 

In  our  veins  the  blood  is  singing, 

In  our  ears  the  slogan  ringing : 

Faith  is  freedom,  right  is  power — and  God's  will! 


AMERICA   TO    AMERICA 

(ON  THE  EVACUATION  OF  VERA  CRUZ) 

WE  were  proud  of  our  dead,  for  they  died 
At  the  word  of  command  that  we  gave. 
Now  we  bury  the  hope  of  that  pride 
In  the  earth  of  their  newly-dug  grave. 

They  died  for  a  vision  of  peace 
With  the  courage  that  Bunker  Hill  knew. 
Let  the  call  for  such  sacrifice  cease 
Till  our  leaders  can  dare  to  be  true! 


[35] 


THE    LUSITANIA 

(MAY  SEVENTH,  1915) 

FOR  that  proud  ship  we  do  not  weep;- 
From  out  the  womb  of  future  years 
Ten  thousand  ships  will  dare  the  deep, 
Her  peers,  and  more  than  peers. 

We  do  not  weep  for  those  who  died, 
Nor  question  of  the  sullen  sea 
Why  in  the  dark  and  awful  tide 
A  thousand  needless  graves  should  be. 

Yet  we  are  solemn  with  the  dread 
Of  those  to  whom  the  tocsin  comes 
Loud  with  the  story  of  their  dead 
To  wake  the  throb  of  sleeping  drums. 

In  riven  steel  and  murdered  men 
Lies  not  the  measure  of  our  loss ;  — 
Look,  there  a  nation  stabs  again 
A  bloody  Figure  on  a  cross  ! 
[  36  ] 


THE    LUSITANIA 

How  shall  we  guard  us  from  her  hand, 
How  guard  from  her  the  ancient  law  ? 
Her  maddened  brain  heeds  no  command 
Save  that  which  keeps  the  brute  in  awe ! 

How  bar  the  portals  of  the  past 
And  block  the  gateway  to  her  goal, 
How  keep  the  faith  until  at  last 
We  save  our  honor  and  her  soul  ? 

No  riot  cry  for  vengeance  blinds 
Our  passion  for  a  righteous  world ; 
With  bitter  hearts  but  steady  minds 
We  stand  with  battle  banners  furled. 

Not  craven  heart  nor  palsied  tongue 
Keeps  back  our  fingers  from  the  sword, — 
The  courage  men  have  left  unsung 
Still  waits  in  service  to  the  Lord. 

Yet  by  the  heritage  we  guard 
More  than  the  cost  of  present  lives 
Shall  we  be  judged  who  watch  and  ward 
Within  a  world  where  God  survives ! 


CLARION 

(MAY  SEVENTH,   1916) 

GOD  send  a  prophet  tongued  with  flame 
To  sear  the  Nation's  self-content; 
Lest  writ  in  words  of  livid  shame 
Ye  read,  eternal  banishment. 

Dread  banishment  from  those  High  Halls 
Your  fathers  builded  wide  and  deep. 
Once,  twice,  and  thrice  the  trumpet  calls,  - 
How  long  shall  ye  lie  bound  in  sleep  ? 

The  skies  are  dark  with  homing  ghosts : 
With  Belgian  blood  the  world  is  red : 
Through  the  salt  sea  in  piteous  hosts 
Still  troop  the  phantoms  of  your  dead ! 

Shrill-voiced  your  chosen  leaders  cry 
The  need  of  freedom  for  your  gold. 
Thank  God  the  men  at  Concord  lie 
Too  deep  to  know  what  ye  have  sold. 

[38] 


CLARION 

Was  it  for  this  the  ancient  hand 
Carved  out  the  riches  of  your  soil  ? 
Then  let  the  sea  blot  out  the  land, 
The  storm  blot  out  the  wasted  toil ! 

Blot  out  the  dream  of  Washington, 
Blot  out  the  vision  Lincoln  knew, 
Blot  out  their  hope  of  air  and  sun, 
Bring  back  the  night  they  overthrew  ! 

Once,  twice,  and  thrice  the  trumpet  calls,- 
The  sword  is  nigh,  the  sword  is  come ! 
Awake,  O  watchmen  on  the  walls, 
And  lift  your  dead  hands  to  the  drum ! 


THE    END 


ftiterjfibe 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .   S   .   A 


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tjfttt 


MAY  2319690 


LD  21-100m-7,'39(402s) 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


